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Yesterday, I passed a funeral for a legionnaire. I looked in as they tattooed her face. The weigh of the ink seemed heavy. In moments, she aged twenty years. I know you are not a part of the Legion, but sometimes it feels like I have lost my daughter all the same.
I remember when you were a little girl. You'd drag me to the Shaperate just to skip down the aisles of books and records. You'd hum softly and run your tiny fingers along the spines of tomes you'd one day study. I still expect to find you there.
They tell me the Legion commander with you is one of the best and I shouldn't worry. It may be weak, but I'm not ready to lose you to the Stone. Please be careful.